Poems from imSOzach
All jobs desire clear, stormy jobs.
Adventure, courage, and desolation.
The job waves like a old job.
Old, old jobs roughly pull a...
So misty before the dreamWe stretch rabid impressions against the rainTake cover! The evil is goneSo murky behind the fireYou envision...
A birthday for a monkhere comes my dad! things are not always as they appearSo I guess he can only be sad
A first lit candleand fret, and be profound! The pail pines for the handle The Yam, however, could not be found
I feel that the world is meltingAnd I think this is all very tiringAnd everbody just started croaking Eaten under a three-ton log